


Auction House

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Series: SLAUE [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bondage, First Time Bottoming, Fisting, Gags, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Slave Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:03:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: “I want him,” Chara hisses over the earpiece. It buzzes angrily in Papyrus’s ear canal, rattling against the bone.

  “You workin’ on a collection, kiddo?” Papyrus asks, his voice pitched low enough to carry only to the microphone on his lapel. “I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for skeletons.”
Papyrus recruits a new slave for Chara's household.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this AU is...A THING. A thing that has gone wildly outside my control, and exists primarily for the purpose of bringing more shameless skeleton orgies into the world.
> 
> SLAUE is an ongoing series that I'm not writing in any particular order, but people have encouraged me to post here on AO3 to help keep track of all its confusing pieces so here it is!

The itch at the back of his skull tells him that Chara is adjusting the camera for the first time in nearly an hour. He’d almost thought the kid had gone to bed and left him to wait out the rest of the evening in boredom, which wouldn’t have been so terrible. He’s under orders to blend in with the crowd – it means an evening of relaxation over hard spirits in a hazy lounge full of sleazy but largely self-absorbed customers. Most of them are human, but they know better than to pay him any mind. Papyrus wouldn’t have made it past the bouncer if he didn’t have the authority of a powerful owner to back him up.

Chara hates to do business in person, which is understandable since most humans won’t take a child seriously no matter how intelligent they might be. Papyrus at least has the height to stand toe to toe with their usual opponents, and with the camera fixed behind his eye-socket the kid can keep an eye on the action and relay instructions as necessary.

Papyrus masks a yawn, taking a sip on his drink and nearly choking on it when he casts his own gaze back over the stage and realises the current prize on offer.

_Well, well._

“I want him,” Chara hisses over the earpiece. It buzzes angrily in Papyrus’s ear canal, rattling against the bone.

“You workin’ on a collection, kiddo?” Papyrus asks, his voice pitched low enough to carry only to the microphone on his lapel. “I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for skeletons.”

“Maybe I do,” Chara purrs back. “Do you have any objection?”

The skeleton on the stage is fighting furiously against his handlers, but it’s a losing battle. The thick collar locked around his throat marks him as an untamed monster whose magic is still under suppression. Chains locked on every limb make him little more than a puppet to be posed and yanked in whichever direction the overseer demands. Even from this distance, Papyrus can make out the furious flush of anger and embarrassment on the skeleton’s high, sharp cheekbones as he’s made to turn and show off the ribbons that have been elaborately braided through the holes on his sacrum. He’s then forced to kneel as the bidding begins, shaking in silent rage as the crowd rouses at the scent of fresh blood and begins to jeer. Offers are called, low and hesitant at first. No one wants to take a risk on an untamed beast.

Papyrus deigns not to answer, lighting up another cigarette and absently gesturing for the waitress to refill his glass. He’s here on Chara’s dime, so there’s no reason not to take advantage of it. “So what’s your limit?”

Chara names a figure that almost makes him swallow the cigarette. He manages a raspy laugh. “Geeze, kid. You got it bad for this one, huh?”

“Bring him home,” Chara orders. “Check him out first, of course. And take your time. I’ll tell Blue you won’t be home until late.”

Chara’s voice is full of too-knowledgeable sweetness and a tinkling of impish laughter. Papyrus smirks – an easy manoeuvre for a skeleton without lips to politely mask the sharpness of their teeth – and settles in to wait for the indecisive to weed each other out of the bidding.

He won’t make his move until the end, when he’s sure of who his real competitors are and can take a proper delight in crushing them.

* * *

The attendant leads him through the complicated labyrinth of back rooms to what must be one of the most isolated corners of the compound. Papyrus feigns disinterest as he memorises the path, feeling the occasional twitch in the back of his skull that tells him Chara is still awake and watching through the camera. It’s faintly annoying since it means he can only keep one of his own eyelights lit – if he used the other, Chara wouldn’t be able to see anything but glare. Finally they make it to a heavy door sealed with an electronic lock. The attendant pulls out a thick roll of papers and a keycard.

“You have one hour to verify your satisfaction with your purchase,” the attendant rattles off robotically, voice monotone. “Before you enter, you’ll need to sign this waiver. Standard procedure for unverified goods.”

“Unverified, huh?” Papyrus repeats, flicking through the contract. “So where’d he come from? Black market slave? Rebel prisoner?”

The attendant’s eyes are blank. “I couldn’t say.”

“Sure you couldn’t,” Papyrus agrees, skimming the papers quickly for anything untoward, but it all looks fairly standard. Don’t damage the goods until the sale is complete yadda yadda yadda, releasing any of the restraints is at his own risk blah blah blah…typical bullshit. He signs his name and prints Chara’s house insignia at the bottom. “Done.”

“We hope your purchase meets your employer’s approval, and look forward to finalising the contract,” the attendant says with a bow, swiping the keycard to open the cell. “Knock three times on the door when you’re finished, or else I will retrieve you when the time limit it up.”

“Thanks,” Papyrus remarks absently, because there’s no harm in being polite to the staff. Most of them aren’t employed here by choice, after all. He steps inside, needing a moment to adjust his eye to the dimmer lighting before he can discern the interior of the room and its sole occupant.

The skeleton he’d seen on the auction block is hunched over on the floor, curled into a tight ball of exhaustion. The chains have been pinned down now to give only a very limited scope of movement. His eyesockets are dark, lacking the bright red eyelights from earlier, but the gag is still in place, lodged behind a surprisingly sharp row of teeth. Papyrus steps closer, squatting down for a better look.

Up close, the glossy sheen of the skeleton’s bones is very obviously just from a thin veneer of oil applied to cover up the blight of heavy scarring. He bears an unnatural number of chips and cracks across his body, the most distinctive of which scours across his eye in a way that no amount of cosmetic disguise would be able to cover. The rest are largely concentrated over his arms and chest in a way that suggests to Papyrus’s well trained eye that Chara’s newest acquisition is a well-trained fighter.

That could be…troublesome.

At the moment, naked and chained, slumped and unmoving, he doesn’t seem much of a threat. Papyrus shifts closer, his cigarette slowly working its way from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Hey.”

The sudden flurry of movement almost makes him flinch, but Papyrus has carefully positioned himself just short of where the other skeleton’s chains will allow him to reach. He blinks slowly, feeling the movement of air raking against his throat where clawed phalanges have jerked short of their attempt to strangle him. Bright crimson eyelights fasten on his face in frantic desperation, their empty exhaustion having apparently just been a ruse to lure him closer – but strain as he might, the other skeleton can’t quite reach him.

Papyrus stares a moment longer, then sits back on his heels, watching frustration and then hostile resentment settle over the other skeleton’s features to mask something else that may have been fear.

“Well,” he says at length, taking a moment to flick ash off the end of his cigarette. “You’re not making the best first impression here.”

It takes almost a minute longer before the skeleton finally concedes defeat, letting his clawed hands fall back to the concrete floor. He absently flexes where the chains have chafed against his wrist-bones. His eyes stay fixed on Papyrus, narrow and untrusting.

“You know, if you were smart, you would have saved that for when we were outside. Even if you took me out now, I don’t have a key to the door. You’re not getting out of here on your own.”

The other skeleton doesn’t react, but the tension in his bones tells Papyrus that he’s still ready to put up a fight. Papyrus sighs, exhaling smoke. Not the sharpest tool in the shed then, this one.

“Well, let me look at you properly then,” he says, laboriously climbing to his feet. He keeps his distance, walking a slow circle around the chained skeleton. The prisoner’s obviously uneasy, particularly when Papyrus is at his back. He twists, trying to keep Papyrus in view, revealing far more than he probably wants to in the way the movement makes him wince and grunt in pain. Skeletons don’t bruise easily, but there’s obviously some lingering damage that even the scars don’t properly convey. Papyrus makes notes so he’ll be able to give an accounting to Chara later.

Papyrus completes his once-over and takes a minute just to think, ignoring the glares and muffled hisses the other skeleton is sending his way. Chara sure knows how to pick ‘em. His instincts are definitely leaning towards the ‘rebel prisoner’ theory, which could make trouble for them later. The last thing House Dreemurr needs is some half-assed rescue attempt if the skeleton has any friends that might still be looking for him. Still, this particular house is known for its discretion, and an unverified transaction won’t be easy to track.

Also, it’s difficult to argue with Chara’s taste. The skeleton is almost as tall as Papyrus; built like a predator, with sharp, angular lines and a sleek grace that even the restraints can’t completely obscure. If he can be trained…

“Okay, pal,” Papyrus says, flicking his spent cigarette into the corner of the room and rolling up his sleeves. “Here’s how this is gonna go down.”

He grabs the chain that tethers the skeleton’s collar to one of the pinions on the floor and yanks it hard as he steps into the other’s blind spot. The immediate reaction is a violent thrashing before self-preservation forces the skeleton to go still, his own strength threatening to crack the delicate cervical vertebrae. Papyrus makes an absent shushing sound, waiting for his movement to go still before lowering himself down and holding the other skeleton’s body flush against his own.

“My owner has bought your contract. That means you belong to them now,” he says, keeping the chain on the collar taut as he slides his other arm around the other skeleton’s waist, gripping firmly at the base of his spine. That earns him a surprised squeal – a very satisfying sound – before the skeleton manages to control himself.

“It’s a good place,” Papyrus goes on, watching as the other skeleton tries to twist to look at him, eyes now wide and shocked. Good. He leers, gently squeezing at the other’s spine with a firm, unrelenting grip. He can feel that cornered ribcage heaving in fast, uneven breaths. “A helluva lot better than a lot of places that you could have ended up.”

He strokes ungently up the other skeleton’s spine, eliciting another uneven cry. The prisoner’s still trying to struggle, but it seems like true exhaustion is starting to overtake him now. The chains rattle with slow, weakened movements as he tries to scrabble at Papyrus’s fingers, but there’s not enough slack left in the chains to allow it.

“The contract said your name is Edge, right?” Papyrus asks. That gets him another glare and an incoherent snarl, and he laughs dryly. “Yeah, I know it’s probably not your real name. Some idiot human probably thought it suited you, huh?”

Edge looks away from him, gaze distant and angry, but his attention snaps back as Papyrus works his hand up to the lowest of his floating ribs and gently thumbs along the inner curve. The way Edge shudders, as if bracing for pain, and then shakily gurgles a moan through the gag tells Papyrus that he’s probably working with a virgin here. How cute.

“So…Edge,” he continues, his hand creeping up into the other’s ribcage and teasing at all the places where the ribs branch into the spine. He can tell by the way Edge is trying not to squirm against him that it’s having the intended effect. “You should probably hold off on making too much of a ruckus. At least until you’ve seen what you’re dealing with, right?”

The noises behind the gag are becoming more ragged, high and low notes slurred together in whimpers and groans as Edge comes apart beneath his practicef fingers. Mercilessly, Papyrus uses his grip on the collar to force the other’s head to the ground, exposing the beautiful latticework of ribbon over Edge’s sacrum. Someone with a real eye for detail must have put that in place. Papyrus strokes the silk of the braid with the tip of one phalange, watching with interest as Edge arches his spine, shrieking incoherently in alarm. How sensitive.

“Just so you know, it’ll be my job to keep an eye on you,” Papyrus tells him, and perhaps he’s enjoying himself a little too much because his own voice has lost its even drawl and hitches with each exhale. He slides his fingers down and over the delicate tip of Edge’s coccyx, teasing the small nub of bone. “And to punish you when you misbehave.”

He folds his fingers, forming a fist. Edge struggles to lift his skull from the floor, but like this, he’s helpless, hips upraised, spine bent at an excruciating angle, femurs forced apart by the chains to leave him spread open. Mindful of Edge’s likely inexperience, Papyrus exercises gentleness as he pushes his hand through the pelvic inlet, bone scouring against bone as he slides through the gap. Edge keens out a noise that might almost be a sob, his bones rattling in distress. Papyrus croons another soothing sound, moving slowly, letting the slickness of the oil Edge is already covered in ease what little friction there is from his measured, shallow motions.

“So remember this,” he murmurs, drawing out the movements, allowing them to be slow and pleasurable even as they invade and demand. His knuckles graze along the inner side of the corset lacing, gliding against silk. “Remember how helpless this feels. Remember how you felt with all those humans watching you on the stage. Remember how much it hurt when they chained you. Because if you make trouble for my owner, we’ll just send you back here, and the next owner you get won’t be as gentle as I am.”

He adjusts the angle of his fingers to slide into the groove of the pubic symphysis, encouraging the tentative, unwilling jerks of Edge’s hips until they find a stable rhythm. He can tell how close Edge is by the heat radiating off his bones, and it hardly takes any time at all for a few clumsy, desperate undulations to culminate into a muffled shout and a full body shudder that abruptly folds into a collapse. Papyrus checks him carefully, but this time Edge remains boneless on the floor, his eyelights dazed and the faintest streaks of crimson tears pooling under his eyesockets.

Good enough. Papyrus climbs to his feet, lighting up another cigarette and stepping over the limp body.

“Nice work,” Chara purrs in his ear. “Now bring him home. I wanna play with him too.”

“Sure thing,” Papyrus acknowledges. He takes a moment to roll down his sleeves again, then lifts a hand to knock three times on the door.


End file.
